


Don't Make Me…

by Sherylyn



Category: White Collar
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9386696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherylyn/pseuds/Sherylyn
Summary: She was going to kill them.





	

For [runthecon](http://runthecon.livejournal.com/) Round Five on LJ, with the prompt, “Don’t make me tell you twice,” from [pooh_collector](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pooh_collector/pseuds/pooh_collector).

 

~*~

 

Neal groaned and leaned back against the pillow behind him, bracing his aching ribs with one hand. Everything about this day had gone wrong. They’d been late leaving the Federal Building because of a problem with the van, he and Peter had had to stage an argument to attempt to save their undercover op, and even their combined skills hadn’t saved them from both ending up here in the ER.  
  
El was going to kill them.  
  
*  
  
Peter winced as the nurse adjusted the brace on his knee and then checked the medication flowing through his IV. His head swam with whatever pain killer they were giving him, but it still wasn’t quite enough to stop the aches from the all-out brawl he and Neal had ended up being in the middle of. They’d literally been almost back-to-back, trying to keep themselves and each other at least reasonably in one piece.  
  
El was going to kill them.  
  
*  
  
El strode through the hospital corridors, a bag of clothing for her guys in one hand, her work tote in the other, because she knew all too well how long it could take to get out of this place at times, even if Peter had sworn to her repeatedly that he and Neal were “just banged up.”  
  
She was going to kill them.  
  
*  
  
Miraculously, they were all home within a couple of hours, the guys were propped up with pillows in the king-sized bed, and El was downstairs heating up a late dinner, which she’d insisted upon at least partly due to the meds they were both supposed to take before bed.  
  
While the leftovers heated, El let Satchmo outside and filled his food and water bowls. She washed her hands, and then patted some of the cold water over her face. She’d been quietly furious all the way home, and she knew Peter and Neal both knew it, even though she hadn’t said much. What was there to say? She knew they _were_ careful — in their own ways — and they both were already kicking themselves for letting the other one get hurt. Being angry _at them_ wasn’t exactly productive, anyway, not that that knowledge kept her from feeling angry. It was their job that was the problem, really, and she couldn’t stop either of them from doing it to the best of their ability any more than her wishes could protect them when needed.  
  
She let Satchmo back inside, then turned back to dish up the food that was now hot. She loaded up a tray with plates and drinks, and started up the stairs with the food.  
  
She sighed. Okay, maybe she wasn’t going to kill them after all.  
  
*  
  
Peter sighed and glanced over at Neal. He didn’t like seeing the bruises that marred Neal’s face, and he knew that worse ones were hidden beneath Neal’s pajama shirt, decorating his torso like some bizarre piece of modern art. He was both thankful and slightly amazed that neither of them had suffered more serious injuries, but they’d somehow managed to escape with nasty bruises and a couple of sprains. Neal looked like he’d dozed off, but Peter was fairly certain he wasn’t sound asleep, in part because he figured Neal’s pain killers were probably starting to wear off, too.  
  
None of the team were entirely sure how he and Neal and been made, but he knew Jones and Diana would find out, one way or another. They’d led the backup team into the melee and rounded up everyone in the building; eventually, they’d find out what had happened.  
  
He heard El coming up the stairs and pushed himself upward against the headboard of the bed, biting back a groan as his back protested. Neal’s eyes blinked open as Peter moved, and he looked around in apparent confusion. “El’s bringing food,” Peter informed him, and Neal nodded slightly in reply.  
  
“Think she’s still mad?” Neal asked, his voice a bit hoarse from sleep.  
  
Peter snorted. “Oh, yeah. She was scared and worried, and that usually comes out as mad, at least for a while. Best to be very agreeable for now.”  
  
Neal nodded, but he looked worried. Peter couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t as familiar with how to handle El being mad at _him_ as Peter was, and Peter figured Neal didn’t really feel up to trying to charm El — or anyone else, either — at the moment.  
  
Peter sighed. Maybe El would be merciful on Neal, at least, and not kill them after all.  
  
*  
  
Neal shifted a bit against his pillows, trying to find a position that didn’t make either his head or his ribs hurt more than they already were.  
  
When El appeared in the doorway with a tray laden with food, he made an instinctive move to try to get out of bed to help, but she froze him with a look. “Don’t even _think_ about getting out of bed,” she scolded, and he shrank back against the pillows at her tone.  
  
“Sorry,” he responded as she set the tray on her dresser and began unloading it. “It’s instinct; I wasn’t thinking.”  
  
She gave a soft snort, but didn’t answer as she started to carry a plate and a bottle of water toward Peter. “El, I’m really not very—” Neal began, but she stopped him with another look.  
  
“Don’t even start it, mister. You’re both going to eat and then you’re both going to take the medications the hospital gave you, and don’t even think of arguing with me.”  
  
Peter shot Neal a warning look behind El’s back, and Neal opened his mouth to attempt to apologize, but El just went right on ranting. “I don’t even want to think about how many times both of you were punched, or what else they _could_ have done to you!” She set his bottle of water on the table beside him and practically shoved his plate of homemade chicken pie into his hands. “And I _know_ you don’t want to be throwing up the medicine with those bruised ribs, so just don’t even _think_ about telling me you’re not hungry, or you’re not tired, or that you’re not ready for bed…” She trailed off and glared at him, her fists on her hips. “And don’t make me tell you twice, just because there’s two of you!” she added, looking furiously at Peter at that point, as though to make sure he knew he was included in that decree. Neal blinked a her for a moment, completely dumbfounded.  
  
Peter nodded at her gravely and simply said, “Yes, ma’am.”  
  
She turned back to Neal as if expecting a rebuttal, and he simply help up his hands in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t even _begin_ to think of it,” he said, as seriously and sincerely as he could manage.  
  
El snorted and crossed her arms, glaring at them both for another moment before turning back to the dresser to get her own plate of food.  
  
Peter waited till El’s back was completely turned, and then mock-whispered, “Coward,” out of the corner of his mouth, aiming it quite obviously toward Neal.  
  
“ _Survivor_ ,” Neal countered in the same manner, both still watching El for a reaction.  
  
Unfortunately, what they saw was her shoulders begin to shake as she wrapped her arms around herself, and they exchanged horrified glances before trying to find a way to put down their plates and get to her and…  
  
“El…” they both said, almost in unison, and El suddenly giggled. She turned back toward the bed, still shaking, but at least now they could see that she was laughing.  
  
“Oh, no, you don’t!” she gasped between giggles, pointing at them both. “No getting up, remember?”  
  
She walked over to Peter’s side of the bed and straightened the covers he’d attempted to push aside, and handed him his plate from the table. “Stay put, you,” she repeated, but leaned in and gave Peter a quick kiss as she did. She then moved to Neal’s side of the bed and repeated the process, straightening the covers over all the pillows around him. “You, too,” she grinned, giving him a quick kiss, too.  
  
She picked up her own plate and sat down in the armchair where they could all see each other. Neal glanced at Peter to see if he understood what had just happened. Peter gave him a slight head shake, but he did venture to ask, “Um, hon? What was so funny?”  
  
El chuckled. “I just realized how much I sounded like my mother, and you two sounded like my sister and me when we were sick and driving Mom crazy. And somehow, I don’t think that’s quite how the whole ‘in sickness and in health’ thing should go.”  
  
Peter chuckled and Neal grinned and shook his head.  
  
They finished their meal in a far more normal atmosphere, and when El came to take his plate, Neal couldn’t help but ask, “So, does this mean you’re not going to kill us after all?”  
  
El laughed. “Not this time,” she answered, her eyes twinkling, “but I really don’t want a repeat of this any time soon.” And then she winked and added, “And don’t make me tell you two _that_ twice, either.”  
  


~*~  
The End  
~*~

 


End file.
